The News Game
by Nitenate
Summary: A malfunctioned soldier is placed in Iraq, with no memory of who he is before he was captured. The story quickly develops into one of the most masterminded games in Mankind History, which has been going on for years The year is 2017 .


**Prologue**

The room was dark, with a single fixture of light connected to the ceiling, which barely revealed any silhouettes that were slinking around the room. Short faint screams sounded off every few minutes, and were silenced just as fast as they had begun. Suddenly lights everywhere were fixed upon the scene, showing off every little detail.

The room was a cell, with cracked concrete walls, and destroyed furniture; chairs, sinks, and other simple items of destroyed luxury. The only thing that wasn't in pieces or bent, was the small cot, which lay having it's side facing the smashed ceramic sink. On the cot was a young man, with rough features and a worn out look on his face-Dead or unconscious. His body was medium tall, and seemed to be built, though his features were covered by a grayish green cotton suit. Outside the cell seemed to be dozens upon dozens of the same containers, fixed with a person as a pet of it's own. Sturdy catwalks were lined outside of the cells, with little walkway. After a few minutes, the lights that had come up so instantly, started to dim down, and then went off completely giving no mercy to anything that wanted the light.

A sudden jolt came from the still man on the cot, and he instantly sat up, only the top half of his body bouncing off the light. His emotions were uncertain, either looking confused, or completely scared. Seconds passed, and then minutes, until finally, he roared out in frustration and anger:

"WHERE AM I!"

No one answered for what seemed like eternity, and he flopped back, laid back on the cot, and you could tell without even seeing him, that his mind was in a frenzy.

"We don't know.." Came a soft feminine voice, that seemed distant but close to his body. Silence took it's turn, making sure to emphasize any inanimate objects voice to be heard.

"What's your name?" he said quietly.

Short silence.

"I don't know.."

Short silence.

"Oh.."

Once again, the lights shrouded everything, this time becoming so bright, the man had to shield his eyes. Within seconds though, he seized the advantage, and glanced around taking a second or two staring into each cell. Men, woman, and children, screaming for help, old and young, all being weak. But they were all calling out to something, flailing their arms wildly. He stood up, and went to the edge of his cell, where metal bars caged him in. He was several stories up, a small draft of wind was blowing through. Then he saw them, four figures below, surrounding a reinforced metal chair and table, both bolted to the ground. They were studying the figure sitting inside the chair who was fastened to it. His head was thrashing and he slammed his feet onto the ground, each thud containing a loud boom.

"LET ME GO!" It was thunderous, containing rage, which silenced many of the prisoners within their cells. The figure stopped thrashing, and started to string what seemed to be every type of swear word in numerous languages. It stopped again, and spat at one of the studiers. The man saw the four figures discussing with each other, but couldn't hear them, because the desperate cries started again.

Within his cell, the man then remembered the female voice. He shouted out to where she was, but was not appearing to be heard. He shook his fists with frustration, and slammed the concrete wall, uttering English swear words. The lights did their usual routine and turned off the same way as before, and then everything started to die down. Suddenly, a loud sound cracked throughout the air, and then seconds later, something large and heavy slammed shut, such as a door.

"I'm to the left of your cell.."

"I thought you couldn't hear me." He walked up to the front of his cell and gripped the bars.

"I heard you."

"Ah.."

Silence with the occasional cough.

"So what's your name?" She said.

He started to speak, but paused. What was his name? He looked up to the ceiling, and then stared out into the darkness.

"I don't know." He could hear here chuckle, and then she laughed.

"Sorry, but the guy before you, didn't know his name either, and neither do I."

"Seems like we're doomed then." He stated, shuffling his feet, letting go of the bars.

"Seems like it." She replied. Silence took over, and for a long time, which seemed like hours, they said nothing. Then, she spoke up.

"My name's Isabelle."

"I thought you didn't know your name?"

"I'm going to call myself that." She said.

He chuckled, and for the first time wished he could see this person face to face.

"Why Isabelle?" He said.

"Because it's the beauty of a name that creates a character." Her voice was lavished with gentleness and life.

He pondered at her statement, and felt as though she might be a mystical creature of unrivaled beauty.

"Well, I'm going to be named Jonathon."

"Why?"

"Because a strong name creates a strong character."

They both laughed, and for a moment he felt like he had known her for years. He then remembered he was in what seemed to be a violent, disgusting, death trap of a place. His smiles turned into frowns and were splashed with the soberness of reality.

"So, do you think we'll get out of here?" He asked inquisitively.

Uncomfortable silence.

"No."

He was about to reply when suddenly the lights shot on, and he was blinded for a moment. He then heard his cell door slam to the side, and he felt several hands grab him, clamping onto him like pliers. He screamed and swore, but to no avail. His pupils started to dilate and for first time, he saw people. But the people he saw were covered up with no flesh exposed, and he stopped and stared at them, while they dragged him upon the catwalk. They were going left. His train of thought suddenly remembered Isabelle, and he tried grabbed onto her cell door bars, franticly maneuvering to catch a glimpse of her.

Then he saw her, first only her face. It was covered with dirt, but gorgeous. He saw light blue eyes, with dark brunette hair. She was pale toned, but her figure was beautiful. Overall, she seemed medium short, but the word angel popped into his head. Then she was gone, and he was passing what seemed to be dozens of cells.

Without struggle, they hauled him into a barred off elevator, and took him down to the ground floor. He knew he couldn't win, and he kept on thinking over and over about how they would kill him.

"Test 1,048 section C-" Came a thick Boston accent, "Starting preliminary tests..Now."

He was already strapped into the cold metal chair, and he felt large needles being shoved into his hamstrings.

"Tests have started." Came a lighter but just as thick Boston accent.

Just as the pain started to fade away from the needles, he screamed. His whole body felt like it was rupturing from the insides, and his only thought was pure pain. His vision started to blur, and his ears were taking in so much noise, as though everything was being amplified.

"Preliminary..Check. Put him on the Thermal check." Said the first Boston accent.

"Right away," came the second voice. "And, starting now."

He was still in a daze, when he felt his stomach churn over, and he threw up his stomach acids.

"Check. Move him onto the finalization." In the back ground, beeping and clicking was heard as though it was a train blowing it's horn full blast. His ears were aching, his eyes were totally blind, and his insides were burning. Seconds later after the finalization was initiated, the pain was beginning to quell, and he suddenly felt weak. Weaker than before, and he found his nerves feeling numb. He blacked out, his final gaze set upon syringes and tools of surgery.

"He's passed the finalization."

"Then we've got the real deal here people! Get Dr. Stafford, now!" Cheering and claps of joy were heard throughout the prison, everything else being dead silent. The prisoners, the ambiance, even the machines were mute.

"I told you it would work Larry! Out of the thousands I knew we'd get one bite!" An old man who seemed quite energetic for his age ran into the center of the room, his bald head shining off the light. Pushing up his glasses onto his nose, he eyed Jonathon in the chair.

"Indeed sir!" The first Boston accent responded.

"Let's get straight to work then, shall we gents?" He smiled slightly, and picked up a syringe filled with green bubbly liquid.


End file.
